Any moment, any way
by Love2readaway
Summary: The first time is always the hardest, or… is it? There is never a right moment, just right opportunities to grasp. -Set of 7 unrelated one-shots of ways to say 'I Love You'-
1. Pocket Change

**Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, though they have found their own way into my heart.**

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_So here's a penny for your thoughts,_

_a nickel for a kiss,_

_a dime if you tell me that you love me._

-Tavares, 1982-

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1. POCKET CHANGE

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It's dark, just a desk lamp softly shinning over the table top. It's quiet too. He observes her. She's biting on her thumb nail, worrying her bottom lip as she studies the scribbles and notes on the sheets of paper in her hands. There's a deep line between her brows as she concentrates, tries to read the white spaces between the lines, tries to figure out the invisible message hidden behind the blank gaps, tries to listen to the silent whispers that try to speak to her.

"A penny for your thoughts," he murmurs, breaking the silence.

She takes a deep breath before answering, almost as if talking to herself, with her gaze still glued to the file. "I was just thinking that…" She seems to get lost in thought again, but then she blinks a few times and her eyes leave the paper in her hand; she lifts her head and meets his gaze. "I was thinking that maybe we are focusing on the wrong victim. What if…? Uh... I don't know…," she exhales, rubbing a hand across her face.

A beat of silence falls upon them again.

"A nickel for a kiss," he says.

She closes the folder and drops it on her desk. "_Really,_" she drags the word out, arching her brows, slumping back in the chair, folding her arms over her chest, and a small smile curving one corner of her mouth.

He digs into his pocket, pulls out some worn coins, checks the change in his hand and slides a nickel across the table with his forefinger. She eyes it and then looks back up at him, studying the intentions playing on his face.

She loves to tease him so she decides she wants to make him believe she won't fall for his little game. She doesn't divert her eyes from his face when her hand moves slowly forward, as if reaching for the case folder on her desk. His eyes follow her hand and she sees the disappointment starting to dawn on his features. She stops, her fingers lingering for a few seconds over the documents, and then, suddenly, she changes direction, her palm landing on the coin. His blue eyes, full of hope now, lock with hers. She leans forward over the desk and stops an inch from his mouth. He remains still as well. She moves even closer, their breaths brushing the other's lips, feeling the warmth irradiating from their skin.

"Do you want the kiss?" she whispers.

"Do you want the nickel?" he replies with a tone softer than a murmur.

It suddenly seems to become a contest for restraint, a quest for power. Who will resist the longest? Neither wants to give up, but neither can resist this longing; its force pulls them over the edge and they both cross the line together, closing the nonexistent distance keeping them apart.

The kiss is slow and fast, teasing and heated, lazy and passionate. All in all, it's amazing. But after a long minute they finally have to break apart, desperate for the much needed pull of air.

"That was worth… a lot more than a nickel," she murmurs breathless, between shallow pants.

He opens his hand, fishes a dime from his palm and places it between them. Her expression turns somber; her face turns into a blank unreadable mask. She can't take her eyes off that little gray round copper piece. Her heartbeat picks up again, thrumming erratically inside her chest.

"A dime if…" he trails off, feeling suddenly hesitant. He's scared he has messed it up. She's not moving, she's barely even breathing. She is completely frozen, totally enthralled by that little object lying between them.

It started as an innocent game but now it has turned to another direction, it has taken the opposite road, and it's all wrong. He wishes he could erase the last 30 seconds because it feels like he's pressing her, forcing her into saying what he's been desperate to hear, even though he already knows how she feels about him, even if she hasn't told him yet, and this is not what he wanted, and—

"I love you," she says suddenly.

There is no hint of hesitation in her voice, no quavering, no trembling. It's straightforward and steady. And… it feels good to say it, it feels right, and it's… Her gaze shoots up to his shocked face; his jaw is slack, his mouth slightly open in complete surprise, in utter disbelief.

"I love you," she voices again, this time to his face, and she can't stop the smile from spreading across her lips.

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**Hope you liked it :)**


	2. Simple

**Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, though they have found their own way into my heart.**

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"_Try a thing you haven't done three times._

_Once, to get over the fear of doing it._

_Twice, to learn how to do it._

_And a third time, to figure out whether you like it or not._

-Virgil Garnett Thomson-

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2. SIMPLE

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His eyes are fixed on her face, she knows. But she is deliberately looking up, avoiding his intense gaze, concentrating on her task, focusing on lather the shampoo into his hair with her skillful fingers, and _not_ thinking about his hands lightly skimming over the slick skin of her waist, his fingers leaving hot trails that have nothing to do with the scalding water running down their naked bodies.

"_Ow! Ow, ow, ow_…" he whines all of a sudden, rubbing his hands over his face. "You got soap in my eyes again!

"I did not!" _Liar._ There is not a single trace of shampoo on his face.

He lowers his hands and smiles a smirk at her. "Just kidding." He gets a roll of her eyes.

She shoves him under the water spray and scrubs the soap suds out of his soft hair.

"Done," she murmurs, pushing back a rebel lock from his forehead.

"Okay, turn around," he says, drawing a circle in the air with his finger. She complies, turning her back to him, and hears him squeeze the bottle of shampoo. A second later, his hands are on her head, soft and tender and smooth, his fingers deliciously massaging her scalp, threading through her long hair. Her eyelids drift closed of their own accord. It's perfect; the hot relaxing water, washing the worries of the day away; his hands gentle on her, loosening the knots in her muscles… She could stay here, under the shower with him, forever, but before she knows it, he's done. His hands leave her hair and come to rest on her shoulders, spinning her around again to face him. She peeks briefly under her eyelashes at the sound of his voice.

"OK, tilt your head back," he murmurs in a whisper. With her eyes closed, she moves with him as he delicately draws her head under the warm spray and slowly rinses the silky foam off. With one hand, he untangles the thick locks of her hair; with the other, he keeps the water and shampoo from falling over her face. Suddenly she feels his lips, soft and wet, on her mouth, and just as quickly they are gone again. She blinks, her arms automatically reaching out for him and winding around his middle. He chuckles and cups her face in his hands.

"You are oddly quiet," he mentions, feathering his thumbs over the dark rims under her eyes.

"I'm just tired," she answers, her eyelids feeling heavier by the minute. The warm water running down her back is not helping her to stay awake.

Leaning in, he reaches behind her and turns the water off. He pushes the shower curtain aside and gets out of the tub, putting a towel around his waist. Her small bathroom is toasty warm and completely foggy, full of white clouds of steam floating all around. The scent of lavender and the smell of shampoo linger in the air.

She twists her hair to squeeze out the excess of water, swings her legs over the bathtub wall, leaning on his shoulder not to slide on the slippery white surface, and steps beside him on the bath mat. He's already wrapping a big towel around her, gently brushing the soft fabric over her wet skin. She grabs a hand towel from the counter and starts rubbing his chest, neck and face, wiping away the trickles of water gliding down from his hair. She never thought she would be doing this, showering together, washing each other's hair, rubbing each other's back, drying each other's skin, but it has become one of her favorite rituals after a long day of work, after a physically and emotionally hard case. But maybe what she likes the most is having him taking care of her, always so incredibly gentle and affectionate.

She is lost in thought and barely notices him taking the hand towel from her hands and using it to softly wipe her flushed cheeks, and kindly rub her hair dry. She's observing a couple of water droplets clinging to his eyelashes, sparkling like tiny diamonds in the light of the lamp shinning above their heads…

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He keeps his eyes on his hands and her hair, but he steals a glance or two at her. She is staring at him but she looks absentminded, and then her fingers are tickling his jaw, caressing his face, tracing his lower lip and cradling his head. He catches the slight movement of her mouth and three words, three barely audible mumbled words, leave her lips. _Did he hear it right?_

"Kate," he chokes out, but she doesn't seem to have heard him. He says her name again.

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"Kate."

Her mind had wandered off again. She shifts her gaze half an inch down and meets his baby blues. _His shocked baby blues?_

"What's wrong?" she whispers, her hand curling around his ear, her thumb stroking his temple.

"You just said… Did you just say…?"

_Oh yes… She believes she just did, didn't she?_ "I love you." The words come out of her mouth again.

"Okay…, either you are _very_ tired or I'm—"

She puts a hand over his mouth. "I love you," she says once more and rises on the tips of her toes, her hands pressed firmly to his chest. She feels his strong heartbeat racing beneath her palm. Her lips feather over his, and she whispers, "You want me to pinch you? See if you're dreaming?" And all she wants to do is eat that silly, sweet, loving look plastered on his face.

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**Thanks guys!**


	3. Love Songs

**A/N: I would recommend that, if you don't know the songs mentioned in this chapter, you listen to them to get a better feel of the atmosphere. But that is up to you... Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, though they have found their own way into my heart.**

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"_Beckett, I just realized something._

_I can't give you anything but love…"_

-Richard Castle, _The Blue Butterfly-_

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3. LOVE SONGS

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It's very late at night. The four of them are the only ones left at The Old Haunt. Ryan took off a while ago, "Home to his loving wife" he'd said.

Lanie, sitting beside Kate, places her empty glass on the table and checks her watch. "Oh, my god! It's almost three!" She slides off the booth's bench and reaches for her coat and purse.

Esposito rises to his feet as well and, as he shrugs on his jacket, he offers to share a cab. Lanie doesn't decline and before starting to climb the stairs, she steals a cheeky glance at Beckett over her shoulder. Kate grins back and winks at her friend. For sure, that cab will make only one stop, Lanie's place. Castle walks them out to open the door for them. Meanwhile, Beckett grabs the empty glasses and beer bottles and sets them on the bar on her way to the restroom before, they too, head back home.

When a minute later, she exits the ladies' room, she is surrounded by dim darkness. Castle has turned off most of the lights, leaving the old underground space lit only by a couple of lamps behind the bar. Soft music is playing in the background, coming from the old Juke Box in the far corner, and she recognizes the late sixties' track immediately. _'I'm your puppet'_ by the Box Tops.

Out of nowhere, he appears in front of her and holds out a hand. "May I?"

She smiles and places her hand in his. He turns and walks them to a fairly open space between the counter and a couple of round tables he has pushed aside to make room. With a flip of his arm, he spins her around in a fast swirl and they end up chest to chest, their bodies bumping gently. His right hand slips around her waist, pressing against the small of her back, and they start to move to the rhythm of the music.

It's fun and light as he spins and swirls them around, softly murmuring the lyrics close to her ear. Soon the song comes to an end and he finishes the dance with a professional low dip, his strong arms supporting her weight while her long hair brushes the floor. She's laughing when he pulls her back up. She starts to let go but a new song, a slow tune, starts to play. Their eyes meet in the dim light and something intangible changes in the atmosphere. His face is suddenly serious, his gaze deep and enticing, as he threads his fingers through hers. A wave of serenity, along with a familiar electric current, washes over her. He tugs lightly at her hand and she goes willingly, closing the short two feet keeping them apart. She puts her arms loosely around his neck while his wrap around her waist, his hands resting firmly on her lower back. Tilting his head, he buries his face in her hair.

They barely have to move, the love ballad so slow and moderate that the slight shift of weight from side to side is enough for them to start turning in endless circles.

They have danced before. Years ago when they went undercover. And most recently, at Ryan's wedding. But this time is different, this dance is different. It's slow and intimate and romantic, just the two of them. And Otis Redding's deep soul voice singing '_I've been loving you too long'._

Kate rests her chin on Castle's shoulder, their cheeks touching, and he lowers his head, his lips making contact with her shoulder, brushing small kisses through the thin fabric of her shirt. He pushes her hair back and then his mouth grazes over the curve where her shoulder meets her neck. The touch is like velvet. Every smooth stroke across her skin is like a dozen unspoken promises that speak directly to her soul. He trails up her neck, continues along her jaw and stops near her ear, his mouth lingering there for a few seconds, his warm breath tickling her cheek.

It's barely a move, no more than a twitch of his lips against her temple, but she knows exactly what it means, what he is silently saying, when he mouths an '_I love you'_ across her skin.

She slides her hand up the back of his neck, threads her fingers through his hair, and tilts her head to him. "I love you, too," she whispers low in his ear and presses a tender kiss to the side of his throat.

He stops moving. His body is rigid against hers and his feet are glued to the old wooden floor. She pulls back in his embrace to look at him. Even in the faint light, she can see his eyes are glistening with emotion. She cradles his cheek in her hand, catching a tear at the corner of his eye with her thumb, and pulls his face to hers to kiss him. It's small, just a soft brush of their lips. He tastes like whisky. The sweetness of the last of his precious scotch 1875 St. Miriam Rock of Scotland he has shared with her and their friends just an hour ago still lingers on his mouth. And then something wet slips between their lips. It's salty and warm. A tear. He's crying!, she realizes. She's about to pull back but, before she can move, his hand is on the back of her neck, holding her in place.

"Castle…" The whisper dies on her lips as he captures her mouth with his again.

His kiss is so reverent and ardent, pouring with such devotion and adoration, it's almost unbearable. She traces his face blindly, wiping away the damp trails on his cheeks with her finger pads. He runs the tip of his tongue delicately over the seam of her lips and she opens up to him. Burning heat is slowly building up deep inside her, a tingling whirl arousing from the pit of her stomach, as he lazily explores the inner walls of her mouth.

Her back arches into him and she dislodges her lips briefly from his. "Is the door locked?" she whispers into his ear.

"Yes," he replies with a shaky breath.

She starts walking backwards with small steps, leading them blindly to the closest booth behind her. The back of her knees hit the side of the bench, and she lowers herself onto the worn brown leather until she's lying flat on her back, pulling him on top of her, his weight deliciously pressing her down into the seat's cushion.

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It's almost like it's meant to be when they melt into one another to the much matching lyrics of _'Arms of a woman_'. Wrapped in the arms of this extraordinary woman who loves him, he's home.

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**Thanks ;)**


	4. Déjà vu

******Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, though they have found their own way into my heart.**

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"_Don't leave me, please. Stay with me, OK?_

_Kate, I love you… I love you, Kate."_

_-_Richard Castle_, Knockout__-_

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4. DÉJÀ VU

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One of the suspects rabbits down the stairwell. Not a second of hesitation; she goes after him. The loud clicking sound of her heels against the iron treads fills the narrow dark space as she pursues the guy. He's already pushing through the emergency exit door. She rushes down the last two flights of stairs, hearing Castle's heavy footsteps hurriedly descending behind her, two stories above her head. Reaching the street level, she pulls the bar down, pushes the door open and follows the guy out the building. Glancing at both sides, she catches a glimpse of movement at the end of the alley to her right. _Gee, he's fast! _She breaks into a sprint, her shoes splashing water as she steps into the rain puddles. Fifty yards east she makes another right into yet another narrow street. It's empty. When she gets to the next corner, she braces herself against the brick wall, gun at the ready, and quickly peeks around the building. It's a dead end and there is only a black cat on a dumpster._ Shit!_

_Bang! Bang!_ Two shots are fired behind her back, and she spins around fast.

"Castle, sta—" she starts to whisper, but stops when she sees she's alone. _Castle was right behind me, at my heels…_ she thinks. But he's not here, she's alone. _God, no!_

She bolts, running full speed, retracing back her steps down the alley. Her head is already ahead of her, showing her things she doesn't' want to see, things she doesn't want to be true. She is racing for her life, because, if what she is seeing in her mind, if what she is feeling in her gut is what just happened, then she is literally and figuratively running for her life.

She almost tumbles to the filthy pavement when she makes a sharp turn to the left, her heels sliding on the wet asphalt. She stops the fall with her arm, her eyes fixed straight ahead. _No!_ There is a body on the ground, lying on its back, motionless, at the far end of the alley. _Oh god, no._ Regaining her footing, she straightens up and pushes her legs to move faster than they ever have before.

"Castle!"

Twenty yards, ten yards... She recognizes his clothes. She feels all the color drain out of her face.

"_CASTLE!"_

Ten feet, five feet… She falls to her knees next to him.

"Castle," she pants completely out of breath, her throat dry and burning.

His eyes are closed, he's not moving. She presses her hand to the side of his neck and looks for a pulse. Her fingers tremble so much she can't feel a thing. _No, no, no…_ Her hands, along with her whole body, are shaking uncontrollably but she manages to unbuckle his 'Writer' Kevlar. It has a big slug hole in the center, where his heart is supposed to be. She pushes the front part of the vest above his head. There is red staining his blue shirt, the smudge growing fast as more blood oozes from the bullet wound. Tears prickle behind her eyes, clouding her vision, but she blinks them away. She yanks his shirt open, buttons scattering everywhere. Her hands come to his heart and she starts CPR. She compresses his chest again and again. She counts to ten, again and again. She calls his name, again and again. One minute goes by, and then another and another. But… his eyes don't open, he doesn't speak, and he doesn't breathe. His heart doesn't beat under her palms.

"No, Castle… Come on, dammit. Come on, you stupid jackass!" She glances up at his pale, lifeless face, and cradles it between her hands. Her blood-stained fingers leave scarlet smears on his skin. "Come on, _live!_" she yells, jolting his head. She clutches the fabric of his shirt in both her hands and bends down over him to press her forehead to his. The tears flow from her closed eyes, slid down her lashes, fall and roll down his cheeks. "Don't leave, please stay… Castle, I need you," she whispers between desperate sobs. "Rick… I love—" her voice breaks. But she has to, he needs to know.

"Beckett!"

It comes from faraway; maybe Ryan, maybe Esposito. She doesn't know, she doesn't care.

"Kate."

It's much closer. Suddenly someone tries to pull her up. "No!" She resists against it, holding tighter onto Castle, clinging to his limp body. Strong hands try to pry her fingers loose. "No! Let me go!"

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He puts his hand on her back. "Kate."

Her fingers are curled into tight fists around the pillow, grasping it so hard her knuckles are white. She's crying, her eyes squeezed shut and tears streaming down her face, and screaming '_No_' over and over.

"Kate." He pries her fingers loose and, pulling her up, shakes her again. "Kate, wake up!"

Her eyes open wide, all red and swollen. She's panting hard, her chest heaving heavily, breathing in and out erratically through her mouth. She grabs him by his shoulders, digging her nails into his flesh.

"Kate, it was just a dream. You're okay, you're okay."

He pushes her long hair back, plastered to her sweaty forehead and neck, and runs his hand down the side of her face, leaving it at her neck, feeling her heart racing frantically underneath his palm. Her eyes dart around the dim room, taking in her surroundings. The bed, the big posters on the wall, the high ceiling, the bookcase...

He can see that reality is slowly dawning on her, her breathing is gradually returning back to normal. She reaches down with trembling hands, pulls his tank shirt over his head, and fixes her eyes on his chest for a long time. When their gazes meet again, fresh tears pool in her eyes, and she starts crying once more, yet no as heavily as before. She falls forward and he catches her, pulling her into his arms, hugging her close to him. She hides her face in the crook of his shoulder, her hands pressed to his chest between their cramped bodies.

"Shh… It's alright. It's over," he murmurs, rubbing her back and feeling completely helpless as her warm tears wet his skin.

"It-it was so real," she hiccups, inhaling deeply and letting out a shaky calming breath.

"It's over now..., I've got you."

She frees her hands and wraps her arms around him. "Ric—, I luv— you … so —uch," she mumbles indistinctly against his neck, her voice faint and weak, drawling out the words with her cry talk. "St-stay with me."

He feels his heart expand so much inside it compresses his chest almost painfully. _God, he loves this woman_. His arms tighten around her. "Always, Kate." He presses a kiss to her shoulder. "I promise."

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**Thanks :)**


	5. Babbling & Alcohol

******A/N: After the last heavy chapter, here comes a light one. Hope you have a good and funny read.**

******Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, though they have found their own way into my heart.**

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"_Don't get into a drinking contest with her. She can take you."_

"_Oh, I don't need to drink to take him."_

-Lanie Parish and Katherine Beckett, _A Deadly Game-_

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5. BABBLING & ALCOHOL

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He stumbles out of the bedroom, flipping on the wall lamp and immediately throwing up a hand in front of his face, squinting his eyes at the invasion of bright light. There is someone knocking, _loudly and persistently_, on his front door. He opens it a slit and peers out into the hall.

"_Beckett?_" His voice sounds husky with sleep as he opens the door all the way.

"Hey you! I finally found you…" she giggles, her eyelids almost imperceptibly lowered over her eyes.

She looks happy, far too happy. Her hair, wildly curled, is a bit ruffled and she has a few pieces of gilt and red confetti glistening in her waved locks. She's wearing a crinkle ruched strapless dress. The skirt's cut just above her knees and the champagne satin fabric adjusts perfectly to her body, accentuating all of her fine slender curves, and highlighting her golden tanned skin. The dress' chest rim is garnished with hundreds of tiny diamond-shaped crystal beads. She is carrying a small purse and high needle heel pumps in her left hand. And the most important detail is she's drunk.

"Kate, what are you doing here? It's _four thirty_ in the _morning_."

Her eyes briefly scan the hall and then focus back on his face, her brows suddenly dipping into a slight frown. She takes one unbalanced step toward him and pokes one finger into his chest.

"You have _very _grumpy neighbors," she murmurs, cupping a hand around her mouth.

"My neigh… What were you doing with my neighbors?"

While her perfectly plucked eyebrows arch up into an apologetic gesture, her lips twitch into a humble grin, and she mumbles softly. "I _may_ have gotten off the elevator on the _wrong_ floor."

"Okay, get in here." He grabs her arm and drags her inside the loft, closing the door behind them. "How did you get here?"

"I asked Maddie to drop me off here… Is your mom home?" She drops her purse and shoes, and the latter bounce and clatter noisily against the hardwood floor.

"Yes, she's upstairs, so shh… Keep it down a notch."

She laces her arms around his neck and leans in close. Her breath smells like wine and tequila. "I came to have sex."

"What?!"

"Shhhhh… Castle, your mom is sleeping," she admonishes, whispering low.

"This is the alcohol talking. Come on, what you need is some sleep."

He stirs her toward his bedroom and makes her sit on the edge of the bed. She falls backward, slumping on her back across the mattress, and spreading her arms wide open over her head. Fishing a sweat shirt and one of his boxers from the dresser, he walks back to the bed and sits down beside her hips.

"Did you girls have fun?"

"Oooh yeah…" she chortles. "Castle, you should have come."

"Yeah, right," he chuckles under his breath.

It's been a girl's night out in the city. She and another dozen women have been celebrating Madison's bachelorette party. Kate's high school friend was getting married in a week.

She babbles on about what they have done and where they've been while he starts to undress her, rolling her onto her belly and pulling the zip of the dress open. He rolls her onto her back again, and stands up between her knees to tug at the skirt's rim, sliding the ruffled satin fabric down her legs. Next, he takes off her flesh colored pantyhose, not without effort. Since she's not wearing a bra, she's left only with her embroidered black thong.

Hauling her up into a sitting position in the middle of the bed, he grabs the big T-shirt, pulls it over her head, and helps her find the holes and slide her arms into the long sleeves.

She yawns and runs her fingers through his hair. "You're handsome... I have a rich and handsome best-selling author as my boyfriend," she drawls out. "Just how lucky am I?" She smiles and touches his cheek.

"Oh, so you just want me for my money, uh?" he insinuates, slightly amused by this playful, more exposed, open side of Beckett.

"Of course…" His gaze shoots up to her eyes. "…not," she finishes, pinching his cheek and bursting into laughter. "I want you because I love your blue eyes, and I love your lips, and I love your hair, and I love your arms..." She slips her hand down inside the front of his sweat pants. "And I love your—"

"_Ooooh-kay_," he stutters and snatches out her wandering hand.

"_Castle_…," she whines. "I wanna see _Big Rick_." Her long, roaming, eager fingers try to slide underneath the waist of his PJ bottoms again and a nervous chuckle escapes his mouth. He pins her hands down to the mattress at either side of her thighs. "Make love to me Castle," she purrs sensually.

"Kate, you are most definitely gonna experience a massive hangover tomorrow… You need some sleep." She pouts her lips, looking pitifully up at him from under her eyelashes. "I can't, Kate. It, it would feel like taking advantage of you," he tries half-heartedly as a last resort, feeling his resolve starting to slip and melt away.

"You won't be taking _advantage_ of me," she grimaces at the word. Her eyes fix on his and, suddenly, she's both looking and sounding very sober. "I'm your girlfriend, and you respect me, and you love me, and I love you."

A beat of silence fills the bedroom. Their gazes stay locked for a long ten seconds. _Was it one of her tricks to get what she wanted? Was it just drunk talk? …Or could it be _honest_ drunk talk? Could she really mean it?_

"…What?" he whispers low.

With her hands still trapped under his strong grip, she smiles and leans forward, bringing her face a few inches from his. "I love you Castle." Her lips brush hotly over his. "I really do…"

And then it is she who has to try and keep him in under control.

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**Thanks!**


	6. Heat and Rook

******Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, though they have found their own way into my heart.**

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"_Just as they had never declared their exclusivity, they also had never shared the love words._

_Right then, basking in the intimacy of some new sanctuary they had just forged, that would have been the time to say them."_

_-_Richard Castle_, Frozen Heat-_

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6. HEAT AND ROOK

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_Oh, this is _so_ good. Her little piece of heaven in her own home_. The twinkle light of burning candles and the lavender scent floating in the air. Soft music is playing in the background, muffling the traffic's noises…

She lifts and swings her leg over the tub's wall to tentatively test the temperature. It almost burns her skin when she first introduces her toes into the hot bath water, her foot and ankle following. But as she slowly gets all soaked in, her body soon acclimates to the high temperature and she welcomes the wet warmth enveloping her naked flesh.

Tiny swirls of white steam rise from the water's surface. She rests the back of her head against the tub's round edge and closes her eyes. Immersed in the warm liquid, surrounded by soap bubbles softly popping near her ears, she starts drifting into a state of complete relaxation and tranquility. It's perfect, the peace and quiet, and—

Knocking on her front door. _Oh, come on! Why God, why?, _she asks herself as she throws her head back, a deep grunt of frustration rumbling deep down from within her chest. She knows that knocking. It's Castle's. It's him standing outside her apartment. His knuckles thump his '_Pa na na na' _theme on the wood of her door again.

She could ignore the knocking, but she knows him. He won't give up, he won't go away. She grudgingly stands up, steps out of her little artificial hot spring, and rubs her skin dry with a towel before putting on her silk robe.

"Kate!" He yells as she walks down the short hallway.

"I'm _coming_!" Beckett shouts back as she crosses the living room to the foyer. Her hand wraps around the handle and it stills for a couple of seconds before she yanks the door open. "_What!" _she barks.

He flashes a self-satisfied grin in her direction and pushes past her into the apartment before she gets the chance to send him on his way again.

He's already dropping his bag on the kitchen counter, his jacket thrown over the stool beside him, when she walks back into the living room.

"What are you doing here, Castle? I thought you were staying home to write tonight."

"Yeah, that's why I'm here. To write," he smiles.

"Oh no, pal. You are _so_ mistaken if you think I'm gonna let you write on me again. Last time it took me five days to scrub away all the ink from my skin."

"Oh no, no that, although…" he trails off, definitely remembering the last time he wrote a whole chapter on her bare body.

"Castle, _no_."

He shrugs and chuckles. "Can't blame one for trying. Anyway..." From inside the bag, he pulls out his laptop from its sleeve and places it on the counter. "I wrote a scene between Nikki and Rook. It's probably the most important scene in the book and it has to be perfect." He opens a file in his computer.

"That still doesn't explain why you're here."

"Well…, ok. So I need your help to…, what's the word, _stage_ the scene. To see if it flows as I want it to flow, and to make sure the feel of it is good enough." The corner of his lips curve up and he looks at her expectantly, his eyes shining with hope. "You gotta earn your writer's credit, babe." He winks at her.

The sooner he gets what he wants, the sooner she'll be able to sink back into her bath. So she finds herself agreeing. "Ok, fine."

His face lights up and he kisses her cheek. She smiles back, the first smile she's given him since he's gotten there, but then the smile fades and she frowns as he kicks his shoes off and starts to unbuckle his belt.

"What are you doing?"

His hands stop halfway down the zipper of his pants. "Well, I gotta get into character." She folds her arms across her chest and arches her brows questioningly. "You're gonna be Nikki, I'm gonna be Rook. He's mostly in his underwear when he's writing," he explains and gets a roll of her eyes in reply.

Pulling his pants down, he steps out of them, undoes the first three buttons of his shirt and sits on the free stool, facing his laptop.

She steps closer and skims over the Word file as he quickly summarizes and narrates the beginning of the scene he has written. His hand slides up the back of her thigh and further north, slipping under her short silky bathrobe to her butt. The hand stops when he realizes she's not wearing anything underneath.

"Ooooh, wow… You know Detective? We can always do this later," he suggests with a crooked grin, his fingers boldly splaying wide across one of the cheeks of her rear. She pinches the soft skin where his shoulder meets his neck. "O-ow, ow! Okay, okay. No messing around." He rubs the throbbing red spot on his neck with his free hand.

Smiling, she rests an arm on his shoulder and leans forward over him, reading the last of the dialogue on the screen. _Oh, it's _that_ scene._

"Alright, ready?" He turns toward her on his seat and allows her to stand between his knees. This time, both his hands start to move up and down the back of her legs, his fingers teasing her under her robe.

Glancing over his shoulder, she rereads the words on the screen and starts playing her role, following the description as written in the scene. _Standing slightly taller than him, Heat draped her arms loosely around Rook's neck_. And so she does.

Castle looks up at her and says, "So Nikki and Rook are discussing the victim's scars and wounds, _'The key has to be in there, Nik. His body is trying to tell us his story'_, _when her eyes fell upon Rook's bullet scar on his chest_—" Castle's brows flick up to her as a sign for her to start the scene but it's him the one that interprets her role instead, mimicking Nikki's move with his right hand, reaching forward and opening the V of her bathrobe, exposing her chest, exposing the scar between her breasts. "–_and her fingers reached out and lightly touched the mark on his skin._" Castle gently caresses her healed wound with two fingers and his voice dips, turning into a low, husky murmur. "_Unexpectedly, an overwhelming feeling flooded through her and Nikki's gaze locked with Rook's, her eyes boring intensely into his. His heartbeat thudded underneath her palm. She didn't see it coming, but Nikki suddenly felt the powerful urge, the primal necessity to express what her heart had been aching so long to say out loud and never had before for fear. Fear of the vulnerability it would leave her if she opened up and exposed her most inner layer. But in that moment, it was this same fear that encouraged her to take the leap and face the unknown no matter what the consequence. There was no way back and she didn't look for any escape route. She saw her moment and grabbed it with an iron firm conviction. Heat opened her mouth and the three words left her lips_—"

"I love you," Kate murmurs softly, supposedly taking over her role of Nikki.

A long moment of silence extends between them as they stare deeply into each other's eyes, all kinds of emotions swirling through her body.

"That was perfect!" Castle's enthusiastic talking breaks the spell. "Do you like the scene?" he asks her with a hopeful smile on his face.

"No, Castle… I—"

"What? What didn't you like? Is it too cheesy?" Castle twists his torso toward the laptop, his forefinger moving over the touchpad and moving the mouse cursor up the screen as he continues to blurt out. "'Cause I thought, you know, the two of them being so—"

She grabs his chin and turns his face back to hers in a move slightly rougher than intended. His cheeks are squeezed tight in her grip.

"Castle, the '_I love you'_—"

"What's wrong with that?" he interrupts again, his lips puckered like a fish between her fingers.

"Shut up!" She takes in a deep breath and confesses. "What I meant to say is I, _Kate_, love you, _Rick_."

The spoken truth hits them both. His baby blues open wide as her revelation settles in him.

His gaze quickly darts between her eyes.

His breathing picks up.

Her trembling fingers release his face.

His hand lightly touches her cheek and he draws her down to him.

And their lips meet in a soft, long kiss.

"Thank you," he whispers over her mouth a minute later as he pulls back.

His response amuses her and she breaks into laughter. He answers in kind, displaying a huge grin of his own. She takes his face between her hands, presses her forehead to his and looks into his shiny, happy eyes. "You're welcome," she replies chuckling, and they both laugh again.

* * *

It's about an hour later when he carefully untangles their bodies, trying not to wake her, and slides off the couch. Moving into the kitchen, Castle sits down on the stool in front of his laptop and starts swiftly stroking the keyboard, adding a few new details to perfect his perfect scene. His eyes lift from the screen to glance sideways, falling upon her sleeping form on the couch, and he smiles. She's definitely getting writer's credit.

* * *

**Hope you liked it.**


	7. ILY

******A/N: When an idea presents itself, it's impossible to ignore it and not publish it. Although most likely it will be the case, I hope I didn't miss any typos. If so, I ask for your forgiveness. Hope you have fun with this 'last' chapter.**

******Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, though they have found their own way into my heart.**

* * *

"_The telephone, which interrupts the most serious conversations_

_and cuts short the most weighty observations,_

_has a romance of its own."_

-Virginia Woolf-

* * *

7. ILY

* * *

"Are you sure?" he asks for the umpteenth time, keeping the elevator doors open with his hand.

"Yesss, Castle, I'm sure."

"Because," he continues, "if you guys need help, I can cancel dinner with Alexis."

"No, I think the boys and I can manage without you," she paints her words with sarcasm, and then adds. "It won't take us much longer anyway. So you enjoy an evening with your daughter."

"Alright," he sighs convinced and, even though there's nobody else on the Homicide floor, Castle lowers his voice to a soft murmur. "So, see you later? Will you come spend the night?"

"Yes, I'll see you in a few hours." Kate gives him a little shove in the chest, making him step back into the elevator's car.

With renewed spirits Castle smiles broadly and winks at her. "I'll miss you," he mentions, pressing the lobby button. Kate immediately answers with a roll of her eyes. He couldn't be sappier, but then again she loves hear him say it.

"Bye, Castle," she wiggles her fingers goodbye as the elevator doors close and he disappears behind them.

Kate makes a short stop at the ladies room before walking back to her desk. She doesn't have time to sit down when her cell starts buzzing on the desktop. Flopping down into her chair, she leans over the phone and reads 'CASTLE' on the lit screen. Seriously?

She lets out a long exhale before answering. "…Yes?" Her tone drips with a bit of irritation and a pinch of impatience.

"Miss me already?" he murmurs, his voice low and warm but also teasing.

In the background, Kate hears horns and the indistinct chatter of people's voices down in the street. "Castle, you just left. I'm not that needy, you know? Not my whole world revolves around you. As much as you'd love that."

"Okay, yeah. It's just that—"

"If you keep distracting me, I'll never be done," she continues, ignoring him. "So if there's nothing you need I'm hanging up, alright?" Beckett hears a car door slam shut and the background noises disappear, and she visualizes Castle sliding into the back seat of a cab. "…Are you listening to me?" But he doesn't answer, too busy giving directions to the driver. "Okay. Castle, I'm hanging up."

"Just a second Kate."

"Bye, Castle. "

"No! Kate, wait! I just wanted to know if—"

"No, you can tell me later," she cuts him off again. "I'm hanging up now. Bye, see you later. Bye, I love you."

_Oh, my god!_ She has spoken so fast that it isn't until she has ended the call that she realizes what just came out of her mouth. It was a reflex, but she just told him… Kate is so stunned all she can do is stare at the phone in her hand. Thirty seconds go by and the screen goes black. She slowly puts the cell phone down and lets go of it as if the small device burns her fingertips. Maybe he hasn't heard her, she thinks. Maybe—

The elevator announces its arrival to the Homicide floor with a loud ding and the doors slide open. Rhythmic footfalls step out of the car and start moving down the hall. Kate freezes and holds her breath, preparing herself for what is coming her way. A figure glides forward through the shadows in the corridor, and when he steps into her field of vision, Beckett recognizes the night guard. Her eyes close briefly and she can't help but release a big sigh of relief, her head falling forward until her forehead rests against the edge of the desk. She feels like she just ran a 100 meter dash; out of breath and with her heart racing inside her chest. Its accelerated beat hammers against her eardrums, threatening to deafen her. Everything is fine, she thinks, and a nervous giggle escapes her lips. Castle didn't hear her, she repeats to herself. Because if he had, he would have called back or…

Kate's head snaps up and her ears strain to the slow, oddly soft footsteps approaching from behind. She doesn't dare turn her head; she doesn't dare peer over her shoulder. The steps stop close at her back. Beckett swallows hard and, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor, she swivels her chair incredibly slowly. Castle's shoes appear into her field of view and, inch by inch, her gaze travels up his body until she reaches his face, until she meets his eyes. His hand is raised and his cell phone is clutched between his fingers. His eyes are wide open and his chest moves visibly up and down with every deep breath he takes. Did he run here?, she wonders and quickly shakes the meaningless thought out of her head.

"You…," he starts, "You say something like that, for the first time and over the phone, and then you _hang up on me_?"

"I…" the words choke in her throat.

"Kate," he sucks in a quick lungful of air. "… You do? …Really?"

"I— I guess… Yeah…" She stands up, takes a step closer to him, tilting her head back to look him in the eye, and whispers. "Yes, I do."

Castle smiles like a kid on Christmas morning upon seeing presents under the tree. He reaches out and catches Kate's fingers. She grins back and they simply stare at each other for what seems to be like hours. All of a sudden, he tugs at her hand and pulls her forcefully to him, capturing her mouth in a passionate kiss. Beckett knows she shouldn't give in, she knows better than to kiss him in the precinct for the simple reason that someone could catch them. But the way in which he is kissing her, the way he's stroking her back, the way he molds their bodies together into a perfect fit… She forgets where she is and all the reasons why she should stop, and kisses him back with matching energy. She raises her arms and wraps them around his neck, pressing herself up so close against him that the buckle of his belt digs into her stomach.

It's a very long minute of wet lips, of urgent tongues exploring each other's mouth, and of deep and repressed moans rumbling inside their chests. Somehow Kate ends up perched on the edge of her desk. Standing tall over her, Castle reaches behind her and draws her by the small of her back closer to him, forcing her to tilt her head back as he devours her lips. He's leaning more and more over her, obliging Kate to bend her back almost parallel with the desktop. She leans too far back and they both lose balance, but they manage to stop their fall just in time. Castle braces himself against the desk with his hands while Kate throws her elbows under her back for support. One of them knocks the pencil holder mug and it tips over. Its contents strew across the desktop and a couple of pens roll onto the floor.

Sharing a breathy laugh, they straighten up and take a few seconds to catch their breaths. When Kate rests her forehead against Castle's chest, he circles his arms around her and looks up, gazing ahead over her head. And he becomes rigid.

"Hello," Castle chokes out in a strangled voice.

Beckett whips her head around.

Ryan and Esposito are standing a few feet away. Warm steam rises up from two pizza cardboard boxes lying on one of the boys' working places. But all Beckett can see is her two male detectives staring in hers and Castle's direction with huge smug smiles on their faces.

"Hiii," they sing in unison, both waving their right hands in perfect synchronization.

Between pushing Castle aside so she can rise to her feet, and feeling her cheeks burst into flames, it takes Beckett a few seconds to compose herself enough to find her voice. God, the boys just caught her and Castle _groping_ each other.

"How long have you been there?" she asks breathless, feeling completely self-conscious and fully aware of her appearance —ruffled hair and red and swollen lips.

"Oh, a long while," Esposito says amused, arching his brows.

"We were ready to interrupt you if clothes started to fly around the bull pen," Ryan adds, trying to repress a laugh. Kate doesn't think it's possible but her cheeks redden even more, burning with the boiling blood accumulating under her skin.

"Hey, Castle," Esposito calls and gives Ryan a comrade nudge in the ribs. "That lip color looks good on you. Is it new?" And the boys explode into laughter.

When Kate shifts her gaze back to Castle and sees that most of her lipstick has been transferred onto his mouth, she quickly tries to wipe away the smear of red off his face with her thumbs.

* * *

Sitting in the back seat of a cab, on his way to his dinner date with Alexis, his cell phone beeps with a new text message. Castle pulls it out of the inside pocket of his jacket, and a big grin spreads across his lips when he reads the acronym in Beckett's message.

"ILY."

* * *

**Thanks!**


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